


Slow Tears

by WriterWithNoName1



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Secrets, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-04-29 21:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14482053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterWithNoName1/pseuds/WriterWithNoName1
Summary: Jax Teller is attacked by L.O.A.N instead of his mother, Hale discovers him in the warehouse after the act has been done. Now, the VP of SAMCRO has to deal with something that he was never prepared for.





	1. Nails on skin

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose my reason for this piece to explore a 'what if' scenario, also, maybe, to show how the subject of male sexual assault could have been addressed on the show without devolving to stereotypes and using it justify a character's eventual suicide. 
> 
> Yes, some victims of sexual assault to develop suicidal thoughts after the fact, and develop depression, but using it as a plot device as means to kill off a character seems to be a lazy solution to a bigger writing problem. 
> 
> Or, in Gemma's case, rape is used to progress the plot instead of actually focusing on the affect it had on her as a person. 
> 
> I hope this fic provides a different exploration of Jax's character for you guys, and thanks for sticking with me as I write this x

It had been a good party.

Bobby’s return had been hailed with all the bells and whistles, not to mention drugs and pussy. Only the patch over party was comparable to it; there was no expense to great, after all, they were celebrating a brother coming home.

Jax tried to enjoy himself, but he’d been distracted, unsettled in fact.

Taking a life was not an easy feat, even when the guilt was undeniable. When it wasn’t? Jax felt he was sinking further and further into the mire, away from the shore and any claim he had on being a good man.

He had his reasons for letting Opie believe the cock and bull about the Mayan. He needed to heal from Donna’s death, and part of that would be putting a bullet in a body that they laid the blame on.

All the same, the web of lies was getting more and more tangled.

Jax decided at about eleven o’clock he was ready to head home, and said his goodbyes to Bobby and the rest. He was still legal enough to ride, and would prefer to be back in his own bed as opposed to passed out on the gross clubhouse floor.

He was VP, which meant he needed to maintain a certain degree of dignity as at times, and as John Teller’s only living son he was the guardian of his legacy. He couldn’t let himself lose control, which, at times, he resented.

But the good of the club and his own were united; so in the end he accepted that. 

The roads were quiet, as there was little traffic around this time of night. He stopped at a set of lights, and waited for them to change.

Suddenly, screeching up behind him came a black SUV, the horn blaring straight at him.

At first, he was annoyed, and when the lady behind the wheel ran out of her car he half expected to get a mouth full of abuse. People just seemed to become infected with road rage at the mere sight of a motorcycle.

“Help! Oh god- Please help me!”

She was screaming, close to crying by the sounds of it. Jax ripped off his helmet. “Whats up?” He asked.

“My baby swallowed something! He’s choking!” She was frantic, eyes wide and filled with tears. This wasn’t a joke.

As a parent (although he hadn’t been one for long) Jax’s concern was sparked immediately, and he turned off the engine and dismounted his bike. He knew he needed to act fast, this kid could suffocate if not.

He dashed over to the car, the mother following him.

“It’s gonna be okay, what did he swallow?” He asked, trying to do what he thought was right; assess the situation and go from there.

With one pull, Jax threw open the car door and went immediately to the baby seat.

“A-A bottle cap or something.” The mother stammered from somewhere behind him.

When he pulled back the sheet that covered the baby, instead of a living child he saw a rigid plastic doll. “What the _fuck_?”

Something hard hit the back of his head, and Jax fell into the deep well of unconsciousness.

\---

What brought him around was not one particular thing, but a multiple of things. First, pain in his arms and shoulders, which was from being strung up by his wrists. The second, soft, murmuring voices nearby.

And lastly, the drum beat pounding of his head. Whoever she was, that lady certainly had a strong arm.

Jax blinked, and looked around. He was in a warehouse, lit with a few flickering, naked bulbs overhead. He was handcuffed to what looked like a metal cage; he thought of those kinky BDSM dungeons that Tig had mentioned once or twice.

It would be funny, if not for the fear that was creeping in. He struggled with the cuffs, but they weren’t budging.

His movement attracted the attention of his captors nearby.

“He’s awake.”

Jax’s watched them approach. There were three of them, all in the same attire, black clothes and horrid, fleshy white masks.

They stood in front of him, but did not speak.

“We got business, assholes?” Jax growled.

There was a low chuckle of laughter that spread through the group; it enraged Jax.

“Something _funny?_ ” He kicked out, landing his foot square in the groin of one of the white masked men, who fell to the ground groaning in pain. Triumphant, Jax bared his teeth like a wild animal. “Go ahead, laugh again.”

Then they were all on him at once, one guy punched Jax in the head to disorientate him further but nothing could disguise the fact that they were trying to yank off his jeans.

Jax fought like a demon, writhing, kicking, screaming as best he could; but ultimately, he was overpowered.

\---

The pain itself wasn’t the worst aspect of it, it was the intimate violation.

After the first had finished, the second took his turn, and then the third.

By then, Jax could no longer feel what was happening, as his mind had shut down his ability to distinguish the pain in the flood of anguish.

“We’re almost done, prince.” One of his attackers whispered, taking a hold of Jax’s face and getting very close. Jax sees a tattoo resting between his collar bone; the thick black lines make up an upside peace sign, inside of which is collared a deep, aortal red.

“Pass on this message to your daddy-” Clay, he must mean Clay. Jax’s real father has been dead a long time. “Tell him to stop selling guns to colour. Got it?”

Ah. So there’s the rub. It seems as if the AB were not going to leave it at a verbal warning, they wanted a show of strength too; cutting into the heart of the club.

“Or, we find your mother, and do what we just did to her.”

For a moment, Jax forgets his own predicament, and with what is left of his energy, he defends the woman who raised him. “L-Leave her…alone.”

“We will, as long as you keep your end of the bargain.”

\----

It had been a long night for Hale.

The tip came in just as he was heading back to the house to crash; Jax Teller’s bike had been stolen, and was last seen being driven to one the empty warehouses on Colby Street.

The man himself was also nowhere to be found, which was highly unusual; if Hale knew Jax, there was very little that could separate that man from his motorcycle.

The warehouse had once been used by a construction company to store materials, but that business had since folded, and the building was left without an owner. Hale knew it was occasionally used as a meeting place for shady activities; drug deals and the like.

Hale pulled up, and immediately noted the presence of the ‘missing’ motorcycle, parked very causally out front of the warehouse; as if it had always been there.

Something was wrong, and Hale knew that he needed to be cautious.

Keeping a hand on his gun, he stepped out of his car and strolled over to the bike to have a quick visual inspection; there was not a scratch on it, although the keys had been left in the ignition. Hale frowned, that didn’t seem like something an experienced biker like Jax would do.

Something was definitely very wrong indeed.

Hale took a glance around, and noticed one of the doors to the unyielding metal building had been left open; not by much, just a crack.

Almost inviting him to come and take a look.

Taking in a steady breath, Hale readied his weapon and step by step, went to check it out. “Jax?” He called, if Jax was nearby, he would hear.

He got no answer.

“Jackson Teller? Are you around?” Hale called, louder this time. Still, he got no response.

Nudging the door aside, Hale thought he had prepared himself for what he might find. He was mistaken.

On the floor, naked save for a ratty blanket, was Jax Teller. His clothes were scatted about carelessly, his hair a mess, with his face turned away from Hale. Around him, a few footprints had been left in what seemed to be his blood.

The reaper of SAMCRO was plastered on his back like a proud flag. There was no denying who it was.

“Oh sweet Jesus.” Hale lowered his gun and rushed to kneel by the other man, seeing he was clearly badly hurt.

What had SAMCRO landed in now?

As gently as he could, he rolled Jax over. His face was a mess, a black eye, a busted lip and a cut cheek; not to mention he was drenched in sweat and as white as a ghost.

Hale needed to wake him up, get him conscious and talking. “Jax, Jax! I need you to wake up, come on-”

When Jax finally roused, he did so with a half terrified cry, clawing at Hale’s face and scrambling to get away despite his injuries.

“Jax-! Stop! It’s me!” Hale backed away, knowing that grabbing at Jax in this state would probably just make him even more panicked. What had happened here?

Using his calmest voice, he tried to assure Jax he was safe. “It’s Hale, David Hale. I’m here to help you…”

Finally, the other man broke out of his brief moment of blind terror. He swallowed, and when he spoke his voice small and riddled with pain. “Hale?”

Never before had Hale heard Jax sound so uncertain, it was downright disturbing. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Taking in the sight of Jax Teller made the deputy’s stomach turn. Jax’s grip on his blanket was so tight that his knuckles had lost all their colour.

Hale’s hands went to his radio, so he could call for backup and a bus for Jax. But the man seemed to guess what he was doing, and made a grab for Hale’s sleeve.

“No!” He pleaded. “Don’t call nobody!”

“But you need help, an ambulance-” Hale insisted.

“No, no…” Jax was in and out of the present, his eyes red rimmed. “No hospital…Tara, will know.”

Hale was deeply conflicted. Jax needed medical attention of some kind, and was obviously in a very bad way; and not just in the physical sense. But getting him out of this warehouse and somewhere safe first was the priority, and Hale needed Jax to comply and come with him.

So, very reluctantly, he had to agree.

“Alright… no hospital, but you need to come with me.”

He helped Jax to stand, eventually having to take most of his weight. The other man limped, but was trying to conceal his suffering with an expression of stony endurance; not even now could he let down his tough guy persona.

With care, Hale walked Jax to his car and got him into the passenger seat; Jax omitted a soft grunt as he sat down, his eyes squeezing shut.

Hale’s throat tightened, and quickly as he could got into the vehicle himself and drove away.

Now, there was another problem, where was he going to take Jax?

The only place Hale could think of was back to the station, not ideal, and Unser would no doubt have one or two things to say about this; but at least it was away from here.

He knew some basic first aid, which would suffice until they got Jax to see real a real doctor.

The biker was slumped in the seat, eyes fluttering open and closed; he was an absolute mess, and quieter than a human being should be.

It was difficult believe that this was the same man that Hale had spoken to this morning; the golden boy of SAMCRO, royalty among his brothers, young and untouchable.

Speaking on behalf of a friend who had just lost in wife in terrible circumstances.

The silence was awful, and although Jax was entitled to his quietude, Hale felt the need to say something. “I know a little first aid.” He said. “I’m going to patch you up as best I can, okay?”

“Fine.” Jax mumbled, not looking at Hale.

“Then… I’m going to need you to tell me what happened tonight, Jax.”

Jax did look at him this time, his black eye already starting to turn purple and swell shut. Hale hoped they had some ice packs at Charming PD. They should have a first aid kit. 

“What do you think happened, man?” Jax seethed. “Pretty fucking obvious to me.”

“Okay, calm down.” At least he’d managed to get Jax to answer in full sentences, which suggested he was starting to wake up from his daze. “Have you got any idea who did this?”

Jax snorted, bitterly. “Take your pick, SAMCRO isn’t exactly rolling in friends.” There was a beat of nothingness. “Yeah, I got myself a pretty clear idea.”

“Who?” Hale asked, they were only a quarter mile away from the station now.

“Not your business.” Jax replied.

“The hell it isn’t!” Hale regretted raising his voice, as Jax startled, wides eye and body tensed as if preparing for another attack.

“I know we haven’t seen eye to eye, Jax-” Hale continued, using a softer tone. “And I’m not going to pretend I like SAMCRO. But you still live in this town, and it’s my job to look out for the people here.”

That didn’t seem to have the desired effect he was looking for, as Jax seemed more closed off than ever; no doubt retreating back behind his safe walls after briefly being afraid of a man he used to ridicule.

Hale guided the car into his parking space at the station, switching off the engine.

“You got no idea what you’re dealing with.” Jax whispered, shifting in his seat although it obviously caused him discomfort.

Thoughts about internal injuries came to mind, but Hale put them in a box for later.

He was about to tell the biker to be careful, but Jax continued, apparently gearing up for something big.  “The guys that did this? You think they’re gonna be scared of Charming fucking PD?”

Jax was hissing through his teeth, finally the shock had subsided and given way to anger. “You and your boys and a goddam joke!”

Hale kept his mouth firmly closed.

“You can’t protect _shit_ in this town!” Jax’s voice cracked on the last word, and he withdrew from Hale as something in his body began to hurt with greater intensity.

“Easy…” Hale soothed, really trying but feeling he was out of his depth.

Jax heaved a great sigh, defeated. Head bowed, his blonde hair fell like a curtain over his face.

“Just… help me get inside.”


	2. Pulling teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hale is an angel ok I will defend him till my death XD

Walking inside was a great struggle, not to mention cold and painful. Jax’s boots were left on the warehouse floor, and the pavement is wet under his toes from a light rainfall.

Hale proves himself to be a half-decent crutch, allowing Jax some shred of dignity of hobbling inside without carrying him.

At first, Jax thinks he might be spared any explanations, as the station is silent and empty save for himelf and Hale. But as he limps like a wounded dog around a corner, they come across Unser, who must be partaking in the night shift.

He had a hot cup of coffee in his hand, which he almost dropped onto the floor at the sight of Jax.

The man hadn’t seem himself yet, but if Wayne’s reaction was anything to go by, then he must look like he was just dragged through hell.

“What in Christ almighty happened to him?!” Unser demanded, looking in-between Hale and Jax for some sort of explanation; his eyes huge and staring.

“Not now, Wayne, just find me the first aid box.” Hale ordered, gesturing for Unser to let them pass and bringing Jax along for the ride to what the biker assumed was his office.

He was sat down in a chair, the blanket pooling around his midsection; an action which caused him great pain in his rear end, which was something Jax’s mind wouldn’t let him address.

“Did you do this, David?” Unser asked, taking in Jax for the second time around.

The young man almost snorted, as if Hale had the meanness in him to beat someone half to death. There was only group of people who were nasty enough to do this; and it wasn’t SAMCRO this time.

The biker felt exposed under the old cop’s gaze, and wished the man would just stop gawping already, but he lacked the energy to tell him so.

Hale’s head whipped around so fast it’s a wonder his neck didn’t break. “No!” He snapped, greatly offended by the idea. “Get the first aid box, _now!_ ”

“Sure thing but-” Unser winced. “He looks like he needs a doctor. Should I call your girlfriend, Jax?”

Jax moved, which was a mistake, as his guts twisted and burned. Hale hovered at his right shoulder, concerned. “I’m fine… just, don’t tell Tara. She can’t know about this.”

Hale sighed, there was something in his eyes, pity maybe. “She’s going to see you eventually.” He said, being his typical logical self. “What are you going to say to her?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Jax promised, suddenly nauseous, and he hoped to god he wouldn’t puke all over the floor to crown everything off.

Hale rubbed his thumb and forefinger against his temples. “Wayne, I need that box.”

“Alright.” Unser walked away as quickly as a man his age with terminal cancer could, soon returning with the first aid kit, and handing it to Hale.

Hale was efficient and surprisingly gentle in cleaning up Jax’s face. The antiseptic wipes stung, but it’s nothing compared to what Jax was feeling on the inside. He breathed in and out in short, ragged bursts, flinching only a bit when one of his open cuts is dabbed and tended too.

Unser has been watching this whole time, hanging back as he clearly is at a loss as to what to do; and happy to let Hale take care of the messy part.

“Who did this to you, Jax?” He enquired softly.

Jax felt a sudden and unexpected rush of rage, hot and savage and it took over his body in a blink; he turned and growled at Unser. “I swear to _god_ the next person who asks me that is getting a bullet in their goddam skull!”

The threat they had made while in the middle of their violation still rang in Jax’s ear like a death knell.

_“Or, we find your mother, and do what we just did to her.”_

Jax would die to protect his mother.

Unser was rebuffed by the outburst, and took a precautionary step away, out of the line of fire. Hale however, had not moved an inch. “I’m just worried for you, son.” Said the old cop, putting his hands up. “Its cause’ I care, you know.”

The man’s concern made Jax recoil with shame, where such a gesture might be welcome was know nothing more than another rod to beat Jax with; how helpless was he that a dying old man felt sympathy for his plight?

Hale looked as though he was in deep thought, complete with a furrowed brow. “Say, Wayne, could you get Jax a glass of water?”

Jax was about to tell this self-righteous prick that he could get his own water, when Hale shot him a meaningful look; despite his wooziness and the constant thrum of pain, Jax got the message. Hale wanted Unser out of the room so they could talk privately.

Unser looked uncertain, but when no complaint came from Jax, he nodded. “Sure.”

Once he was gone again, Hale knelt by Jax’s knee so that they could see eye to eye; and the sincerity in his face made Jax almost want to weep. He was indeed dangerously close to shedding a few tears, if he weren’t clenching his jaw so tightly a series of horrible sobs might escape his mouth.

“Listen.” Hale lowered his voice, speaking clearly and concisely. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need someone to check you out, Jax.” Real worry heavily weighted down his words. “You’re… bleeding. You might have internal injuries.”

Jax knew he was messed up… on the inside, where Zobelle’s men had viciously asserted their power over him and torn apart his sense of humanity.

He felt dirty in a way he hadn’t conceived off before, like a rag used and the tossed aside. The idea of someone else looking there, seeing the damage, made Jax wretch.

There would be nowhere to hide.

He shook his head.

“I’ve got a family doctor-” Hale explained. “He’s expensive but discreet, he’ll do me a favour.”

Of course, an affluent family like the Hales has no doubt a plethora of personnel under their payroll in order to tidy away any unsightly problems. David is probably the black sheep, refusing to take a cent in bribe money and will not operate under any code other than the letter of the law.

A real, bona fide good cop, but also a pain in the ass.

 “How much is expensive?” Jax murmured, then he began to shiver, the blanket was no longer keeping him warm enough.

“I’ll cover it.” Hale noticed him shaking. “I’ll get you some spare clothes. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

“I ain’t going anywhere.”

His body wouldn’t cooperate enough to allow Jax to run away regardless, so he was truly stuck.

Unser returned a moment later, while Hale was on the hunt for Jax something to wear. “Here you are, where’s Captain America?”

“Gone to get me some clothes.” The water had a coppery twang, but that was because of the blood in Jax’s mouth. Once that taste was gone the drink was quite welcome.

Hale brought him a pair of grey sweats and a Charming PD t-shirt.

“Thanks.” Jax gave the glass back to Unser. “Can I sleep here tonight? I don’t want Tara to freak out.”

Hale and the old cop looked at each other. Unser scratched the back of his head. “Sure, but I think you should be somewhere more comfortable.” The old cop suggested.

 “Like that tin can you live in?” Jax quipped, not really feeling like making a joke, but he needed to let them know he was not broken completely.

No matter how shattered he felt.

Hale quirked his mouth up into a tiny smirk, and Unser gave Jax a fake glare. “Hey, don’t shit on my trailer.”

A moment of quiet passed, then Hale spoke up. “I’ve got a spare room.” He said, stepping up. “You can stay with me tonight.”

Jax was surprised, Hale had already step out his comfort zone by saving who he considered to be a criminal; this was going above the call of duty. Not to mention it made Jax uneasy.

Hw would owe him a lot for all of this.

“I’m fine here.” Jax assured him.

It wouldn’t be the first night he’d slept in jail. Although this stay would forever stick out in his mind in all the worst ways. In reality he wanted a bed, something warm to drink, he wanted a shower.

He needed to be clean, or at least be as close to it as he could.

Suddenly, Jax came to an awful realisation that sent him into a panicked tail spin.

“They’ve got my kutte-” Those sick hands had torn away his armour, leaving him with nothing. “My clothes, my _bike_ -“   

“Your bike was parked out front.” Hale assured him, seeing Jax’s anxiety growing out of control. “I think it’ll be okay, and I can always go back and grab your things.” He looked guilty. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before, I thought it would be best to just get you out of there.”

Why was he apologising? Jax couldn’t understand.

“I’ll go get your stuff, kid. Don’t worry about it.” Unser let his hand rest on Jax’s shoulder, meant as a fatherly pat.

It was a mistake.

Jax jumped at the touch, every fibre, every nerve tensing up and waiting to defend itself from another assault. Unser saw what he had done and removed the hand, face falling.

“Well I’d, I’d better go now.” As he left the room, he called back to Jax while nodding towards Hale. “Go on, kid. Go use his hot water and drink all his fancy coffee.”

Hot water. It sounded like bliss.

Of course, it would mean leaving Tara alone with Abel till the morning; and his mother would have to take over then.

In all of it, he hadn’t even thought about his son, and that made him cringe; he’d been too wrapped up in himself.

Maybe that’s why this had happened, because he was a bad person.

Jax couldn’t pin point if it was tiredness, his half dead spirit or blood loss than made him agree to Hale’s plan in hindsight; perhaps all of the above.

Hale seemed satisfied at least, and gave Jax some merciful privacy to get dressed.

And if Jax Teller let a few tears fall, that was a secret kept between him and the walls of Charming police station.

Somehow driving to Hale’s home was worse. Jax was facing away from him, eyes fixed out of the window and the rushing streetlights whizzing by in bright yellow streaks.

He was expecting something delightfully middle class, with white columns and a matching picket fence, maybe a happy golden retriever waiting on the lawn.

What he got was a small one floor townhouse with a private front yard, modest, especially considering the salary that Hale’s parents must have earned. Perhaps he refused financial help from his family and went on a brave crusade to prove that he could provide for himself in the old fashioned American way.

With Jax in tow, Hale opened the front door to a simple, tidy interior with wooden floors and an overall impression of frugality. There were one or two more personal items, a painting, a photo here and there of the Hale clan but nothing to suggest anyone else but a single man occupied the space.

Gemma would say it was in need of a woman’s touch.

But Jax thought privately that it seemed secure, stable.

Safe.

Hale had him on the couch in minutes, letting him lie down and Jax’s back complained loudly at that but he was just so thankful to be off his feet.

 “Okay… wait here. I need to make a phone call.” Hale took out his phone and pressed a few buttons, going into the kitchen and having a hushed conversation with this mysterious ‘doctor’.

Jax must have dozed off, as the next minute Hale was gently rousing him. “Hey, stay awake for me okay?” He asked, an apology in his face. “Just a little while longer. He’ll be about twenty minutes.”

“Great.” Jax croaked, wishing he could just drift off right about now.

How much more was he going to endure today?

Hale seemed to sense that he needed something to help him get through the next few hours. “I’ll get you some painkillers.”

All he had in the house was some advil, still, it was better than nothing at all.

Jax swallowed the little pills and waited for the doctor to arrive. Hale sat with him, keeping him company and making sure he was as comfortable as he could be.

The knock at the door nearly made Jax leap two feet into the air, and Hale rose and crossed the floor to answer it.

There was some low muttering on the threshold, and finally the cop escorted what looked like a very tired, plump man with grey hair inside; he was carrying a black bag, just like the doctors did in the movies.

 “I do hope that whatever you’ve awoken me for at this hour is worth the trouble, David.” Wheezed the old man, blinking sleepily at Hale who motioned at Jax with his head.

When the doctor caught sight of Jax, he faltered. “My god.”

Jax let out a small, irritated huff, he was well aware he looked awful; he wished people would stop reminding him.

He was dreading the time when he’d have to look in a mirror.

“Hey.” Jax responded, dryly.

The doctor rounded on Hale. “Why is this man not in a hospital?”

“He didn’t want to go.” Hale explained. “Please just do what you can for him, Fred? I know its… irregular, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

Fred looked ready to refuse, or argue, or otherwise make a fuss; but his Hippocratic Oath won out, and grumbling he set down his things on the coffee table.

Hale let his shoulders slump, relieved. “…I’ll be outside.” As he passed, he reached out and gently lay the tips of his finger’s on Jax’s arm.

This time, Jax didn’t start.

The doctor wasn’t quite as tender as Hale had been, having a less personal, non-nonsense attitude to his business. “Were you in a war I don’t know about, young man?” he asked primly.

Jax looked up at the ceiling. “You have no idea, doc.”

The doctor seemed pleased with Hale’s attempts to clean up his cuts and bruises, but then he asked the fatal question.  “Now, are you hurt anywhere else? Apart from the obvious?”

Jax licked his lips, and fought against another tide of humiliated tears that came his way. “Yeah.”

He used his last reserves of courage to describe, quietly where he had been hurt. Actually saying it out loud meant that the incident was no longer in the realms of the deniable.

It was real.

Thankfully Fred maintained an impassive, professional manner, although his voice lost its briskness somewhat. “May I examine you?”

“….sure.”

It didn’t take long, and Jax had lost his connection with his body by now; as if he was watching from a high point above the mess, the sensations weren’t his own.

Unpleasant task done, Fred began to scribble in a notepad. “I’m going to prescribe you some strong painkillers, have you already taken anything?”

“Advil.” Jax replied, pulling up his sweat pants. He could really use some booze right about now.

“Here are some anti-inflammatories just to stave off infection.” Fred nealyt tore away the page and handed it to Jax, who took it and shoved it into his pocket.

The doctor walked over to the glass doors separating the living room from the garden, and wrapped his knuckles against them to get Hale’s attention. Jax wondered if he’d been cold standing out there all this time.

 “We all done?” He asked.

“Yes. I’ll send my bill over in the morning.” The doctor said.

Hale thanked him, and politely escorted him out.

Jax was left alone, sitting on the couch and staring ahead; unsure what was going to come next.

\----

Once they were out of Jax’s hearing, Fred turned to Hale with what could only be described as a troubled storm brewing in his old eyes.

“Will you do me a favour, David?” His voice was awfully soft.

Hale blinked. “What?”

“When you find the people that did this, see that they are punished to the fullest extent of the law.” Although quiet, the hardness and seriousness of Fred’s tone could not be denied.

Hale felt his own disgust, his own anger over the night’s events bubble to the surface. No one deserved what Jax had been through, and whoever had committed this crime was _not_ going to get away with it.

Not while David still had a breath in his body.

 “I will.”


	3. Kicking out

When Jax first awoke the morning after, he was sore, disorientated, and as thirsty as the Mojave Desert.

The bars of light coming in from the window were casting themselves directly over his face, so when Jax opened his eyes they were flooded. He groaned and tried to turn over, but it felt as if his tendons would tear themselves away from his bones.

With great effort on his part, the biker pushed away the covers. Hale’s spare room was small and only furnished with a bed, a side table and a closet; Jax had simply fallen onto the mattress the night before and passed out. He couldn’t remember removing his sweat pants.

That must have been Hale.

Speaking of, Jax was put on alert by a noise coming from behind the door. Every sound seemed to send his senses into flight mode, every movement meant potential danger.

The cop then appeared, dressed in normal clothes; something Jax had not seen before. He obviously had not been awake long himself, as he was wearing a pair of blue checked pyjama pants and a wife beater.

Jax was surprised that Hale didn’t sleep in his uniform, the usually stiff cop seemed almost sewn into it.

Hale had a cup in his hand. “Hey.” He said softly. “I brought you some coffee. Thought it might help.”

Jax rubbed his face. “What time isit?”

Hale put the cup down on the little table. “Around ten minutes past seven.”

What an ungodly hour to be up.

The biker looked at the steaming drink, reminded of a puddle of oil left to go warm in the sun. Out of nowhere, Jax began to wretch, and as fast as he could he shoved Hale out of the way to go and empty his guts in the bathroom.

“Jesus Christ, Jax.” He heard Hale over his head, but was unable to answer. His guts were burning, and spewing fire into the toilet bowl.

It went on for three long minutes, till Jax had nothing left inside him to give. He sat slumped against the toilet, empty, and as white as bleached linen.

Hale had been watching the whole time, with thin lips. “You need to go home, and rest, just not do anything for a couple days.”

“I can’t.” Jax wiped some vomit from his lip. “I just need to find a good cover story for this,” he gestured at himself.

Hale shook his head in despair. “Like what?”

Jax thought, which was not easy given the swirling of his head. “A bike accident-” Yes, that might work. “I was over the limit and took a spill on the road, knocked myself up, you booked me in for drunk driving.”

Hale was not pleased at his sudden involvement in this made up tale. “So I’m the bad guy?”

Jaz shrugged. “Sorry man, but it’s all I can think off. I’ll make sure they know it was mostly my fault, you were just doing your job.”

Hale looked troubled. “But it wasn’t your fault, Jax, none it was.”

Jax let his forehead rest against the edge of the toilet seat. Thank god that Hale was such a clean freak. “Just go with it… please, I just need to tell them something at the club.”

Hale ran a hand through his hair. “I- what’s your long term plan here? Just pretend this never happened?”

“Something like that.” Jax mumbled.

“Jackson, listen to me.” Hale took a step into the bathroom, sitting on the side of the tub by Jax’s left shoulder. “You’ve been through something awful, you need time to recover, and maybe then you’ll be in a better frame of mind to make decisions.”

This was cop speak, pure and simple, and Jax was the hysterical victim.

“You don’t get it.” Jax let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “The guys that did this, they want me to tell the club-” He finally found the energy to raise his head and look Hale in the eye. “They want to watch Clay and the others turn themselves inside out over it.”

Jax drew in a long, furious breath, his anger barely contained by his body. “I won’t give them the satisfaction.”

Jax would plan ahead, he would use his sway over SAMCRO to convince Clay that they needed to obliterate white hate from Charming. That would be greater revenge than Hale’s idea of justice, with courts, witness statements and judges.

And no one will know.

He will not be shamed.

“And what about you?” Hale asked.

Jax gathered the remains of his dignity. “I’m tough.” He asserted, hard faced. “I’ll be fine.”

Hale seemed to be constructing a counter argument in his mind, but with a despondent look he decided to leave it lie. Perhaps arguing with a man who’d fallen so low was against his moral code.

“Unser stopped by, you were still asleep.” He said. “He dropped off your stuff, and your bike is in the PD impound.”

Some good news at last, at least his bike was surrounded by fences and CCTV cameras than left to languish outside the warehouse were he’d been tortured the previous night.

Jax got up from the floor, using the sink to help support his weight. “Can you call Unser for me?” He asked Hale.

Hale nodded, eager to be of help. “Sure, what do you need?”

“Tell him to scratch up my bike, make it look like she hit it hard on the road.”

The cop didn’t seem to understand Jax’s logic at first, or maybe he was thrown for a loop that a biker would deliberately inflict damage on such a crucial piece of his identity. It was a horrible order for Jax to give, but a necessary one.

“But not too much...” Jax clarified, he needed his bike to look dented, but not destroyed.

“Will do.” Hale said. “Do you need anything?”

Jax considered. “My phone?”

\---

Unser had always hated hip hop music, of course, he was an old man who grew up with Elvis and the Beatles. Timeless artists whose immortalisation in vinyl could not be recaptured by a tiny digital file, meant for phones and ipods.

Forgotten were the days of easing a record out of the sleeve and flipping it over to be put on the player; which would fill the entire house with _Blue Suede Shoes._ You could not recapture the same romance in the pressing of a button.

Unser watched uneasily as the One-Niner thugs rolled away down the road in which they had come. “Should I be worried?”

Clay was already sitting on his bike, ready to move off and back to the clubhouse. “Relax, old man, it’s good for business.”

When Unser didn’t bid them farewell, or ask outright what he wanted, it was left to Clay to probe him. “You need something?”

Unser knew what he was about to do would piss Jax off, but the kid’s story needed some of its holes filled in. “Jax got himself in a tangle with Hale last night.” Unser began, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “Driving home drunk, crashed his bike, and got scarred up.”

Tig, who thus far had stayed quiet (which was often how Unser preferred the man) looked up. “What?”

“Hale had to bring him in, he was pretty plastered.” Unser explained, making himself look embarrassed on the kids’ behalf, as if the previous night had been filled with drunken antics as opposed to something far more sinister.

“Jesus, is he alright?” Clay demanded, keen to know the status of his step-son. They didn’t always get along, Jax and his old man, but the bond they shared with Gemma united them from time to time.

“Yeah, he spent the night at the lock up. His injuries are mostly superficial.” It was downplaying to the nth degree, Jax’s face would probably look terrible now, all swollen and purple. “Captain America wasn’t too happy about it.”

Clay growled, almost jumping from his ride in frustration. “Goddam _idiot_.”

“Call Gemma.” Tig advised, then he tiredly pressed his fingers to temple. “She’s gonna loose her shit.”

That she would. Unser had known Gemma since she was a young woman and when he was still trying to pretend he could be a straight cop.  

“Has the idiot been set free yet?” Clay enquired, rumbling with discontent.

“As we speak, he should be back at the clubhouse soon enough.” Unser lied, which was a skill he had mastered with years of practise.

Clay revved his engine, getting ready to go and Tig did the same. “I’ll kill him.” He grumbled.

\----

Hale gave the biker some chamomile tea when the vomiting was well and truly over, hoping it would be easier on his stomach than coffee; and some more advil for the pain. Perhaps he could persuade the man to have some fruit, but he wasn’t hopeful.

Jax said thank you to the offerings, though seemed disinterested. His face was an unsightly rainbow of bruises, red, purple and blue; he looked as if someone had used his face to test their new baseball bat on.

He looked awful.

Hale had since showered, completed his ablutions and dressed in his uniform for work. He was already late, but that was a minor issue; what mattered was making sure Jax was alright

Jax had also dressed in an attempt to look more human.

The air was then filled with a low buzzing, and Jax’s phone blurted out a tuneless ring. He plucked it off the kitchen counter and stared at the caller ID.

“Its mom…” he sighed, considering letting it go to voicemail.

“You need to take it.” David said, making Jax’s mind up for him.

“Yeah, I know.” Jax prepared himself for the inevitable chewing out he was about to receive as he answered the phone. “Hey Ma.”

“Jax what the hell happened last night? Wanye called me, something about drunk driving?”

Ah, so, Unser had been a busy bee then. And if Gemma already knew, then no doubt Clay had heard the story as well.

Brilliant.

Jax winced, holding the headset a little away from his ear so that he wouldn’t be deafened by his mother’s ranting. He tried his very best to sound merely hungover. “I’m fine, I just overdid it. Took a fall from my bike coming home.”

“Are you okay?” His mother’s worry cut into Jax like a heavy axe splintering wood, her voice enveloping him in a familiar embrace.

“Few cuts and bruises, to be honest I don’t remember too much of it.”

That was actually a version of the truth, there were big widening gaps in Jax’s memory of last night; and to be honest they were merciful. The less he could recall, the better.

“I’m… at the station now, gonna be let out soon.” Hale looked over, raising a brow at the lie, Jax glared at him and turn his back to the cop.

“What? Why weren’t you taken to the hospital?” His mother demanded.

“Told Hale were he could stick his night stick when he picked me off the road.” At that, Hale snorted, not too long ago they had indeed shared a similar exchange; it’s strange how quickly alliances can shift in the right conditions. “I guess I earned it.”

“What were you thinking?!” His mother was gearing up for her big finish. “You’ve got a kid to think about! You can’t be doing shit like this.”

Jax wilted under his mother’s ere, normally he had the endurance for it, but not today. “Sorry, Ma.” He mumbled.

“Does Tara know?” Gemma asked.

“No… Has she left for work yet?”

“Hours ago. You need to call her Jax. Let her know you’re okay.” She must have taken an early shift, Jax would now that if his mind wasn’t a whirlpool of pain and disorientation.

“I will.” Jax promised.

“…you want me to pick you up from the station?” He could hear his mother softening, now that her scolding was over.

The last thing he needed was Gemma to see him like this, he needed to avoid her as long as possible. “No, I can ride, it’s cool.”

It wasn’t. He hurt and wanted to crawl into a hole and lick his wounds till he couldn’t feel them anymore; but that’s not what a son did.

He needed to get a grip on himself.

“Well, a hangover can be your punishment.” His mother said, then added “Keep safe, baby.”

For some reason, those last words nearly pulled a sob from Jax’s throat, he barely held it together; Hale noticed, and looked over from the coffee pot with a concerned gaze.

“Yeah, Ma.” Jax hung up on her and got control of his breathing.

“Was she mad at you?” Hale asked, coming over.

“Typical mom stuff…” Jax stuffed his phone into the pocket of his jeans, retrieved by Unser from the warehouse a few hours ago. They smelt of dust and metal.

His shirt had been ripped, so went straight in the trash; he still had on the Charming PD Tee provided by Hale under his Kutte. Hopefully he could get home and change before someone saw him in it.

“When’s Unser bringing over my bike?” He was keen to get back on the road again, and have some time alone just with his thoughts so he could get them straight before seeing anyone.

Hale walked over to the window, and peeked out behind the curtain. “I think that’s him now.”

It was true, Unser’s old truck had pulled up outside; towing Jax’s bike along behind it. The biker rushed out, followed at a slower, measured pace by Hale; he walked like a soldier, one, two, three, and four.

“Hey Hale.” Unser greeted, then turned to the younger man, eyes clouding over with sympathy. “Jax.”

“Thanks for ratting me out.” Jax growled, showing teeth and closing in on Unser. Hale was at his back though, preparing to pull him away if needed. For a flash he was so pissed at Unser he could pluck out his eyes and stamp on them.

But the feeling was like a firework, going BANG and then dying out; leaving nothing but black apathy.

“Hey, I’m made it convincing.” The old cop said in response, and stepped back, surrendering. “I went with the plan, told him you had an accident. He called Gemma afterwards.”

At least it saved him the trouble of telling the thing first hand, which might save Jax a good deal of shame. He wasn’t sure how he’d react parroting the lie face to face with someone at the club.

Unser showed Jax to his bike. “Did what you asked. I took a wrench to it.”

Jax did a quick check, there were a few miner scratches and one or two fixable dents; nothing that he couldn’t mend himself without too much trouble. “It’ll convince the club, thanks.”

“Should you be driving that thing?” Unser queried, making an assessment of Jax’s condition and judging him to be not fit to be ride. “Jawline over there can always drop you off.”

Apparently no one liked calling Hale by his name.

“No.” Jax replied, determined. “I need to act normal.”

Unser and Hale shared another look, a moment of silent communication that Jax was too tired to try and tap into. Jax didn’t know much Cop speak.

He freed his girl from the cables holding her in place, pulling her back and taking his helmet which had been left dangling on one of the handle bars and put it on his head. As his fingers went to tighten the chin strap he paused as a sudden thought occurred to him.

_If I had let this on when I had gotten off my bike, I wouldn’t have been knocked out._

The idea left him shocked and bitter, and Jax covered it up hoping onto his bike as if nothing was wrong and starting her up. He took one last look at the pair of officers. “….thanks for the help, I appreciate it.”

“You can call me if you need something.” Hale put his hand on Jax’s shoulder, but mindful of his injuries didn’t squeeze it.

Jax forced a small, tired smile and stepped on the gas and screeched away down the street.

The men watched him go, unease pooling in both of their stomachs. “This is not going to end well.” Hale commented.

Jax had done a very good job of being strong, tightening his lip and not allowing the reality of his situation to sink in entirely. Hale had seen it once before, when his grandmother had passed away suddenly from a heart attack.

His grandfather had not cried, not even when they had buried his wife of sixty three years in the ground surrounded by her grieving loved ones. He’d kept it all inside, while keeping the outside as stoic and as unreadable as a brick wall.

Eventually, he started to use alcohol to keep the inside from infecting the outside.

It all ended tragically when, in a drunk stupor, Martin Hale had tried to climb the stairs to his bedroom when he lost his footing and fell backwards.

He broke his neck in one clean snap. Eight years after her, Hale’s grandfather was planted next to his wife in Charming’s cemetery.

Unser seemed to be in the same mind, hands on his hips and peering at Jax as if the young man was heading towards his own hanging.

“No, but we just gotta wait till that boy explodes.”

Hale worked his jaw, and wondered if he should follow Jax; just to make sure that the biker didn’t explode all over the road.


	4. Clawing eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jax loves his mini clone.

Putting the key in the door and turning it had never been so difficult; such a mundane task that Jax had performed hundreds upon hundreds of times now seemed too monumental to complete.

Jax was inflicted with such bone set exhaustion that he if had been alone, he may well have just collapsed right there on the welcome mat. Sadly, he was not.

The new nanny was starting today, something he and Tara agreed upon; taking the burden off Jax’s mother and allowing them both some more free time.

Nita was somewhere inside the house, and when she heard the door open she cheerily called through. “Hello?”

“Hey…Nita, It’s Jax Teller.” Jax answered, forcing the tired crackle from his voice.

“Oh hi there, I wasn’t expecting you back. I’ve just put Abel down-” Judging from the sounds, Nita was hurrying to greet Jax at the door, which meant that he couldn’t discreetly creep into the bedroom like he planned.

Nita was a plump black woman in her thirties, amiable and based on Gemma and Tara’s prior interview, trustworthy and caring. She began smiling, but her face froze when she met Jax in the hallway.

“My lord!” She exclaimed. “What happened?”

“Fell from my bike.” Jax mumbled, and wondered how many times he was going to have to sell this fake story today before he’d get some peace and quiet. “I’m fine.”

He cast a glance towards his son’s bedroom, suddenly eager to see him. “Is Abel asleep?”

“He might be, I fed him and put him to bed.” Nita said, face creased with her concern. “Can I get you some ice, Mr Teller?”

The kindness, though small, was needed; and Jax found himself warming to her. “That would be great, thanks.”

Quietly, Jax turned from her and entered the bedroom of Abel. The name wasn’t especially symbolic, Wendy had picked Penny for a girl, and left Jax to come up with an alternative for a boy. He picked up a baby book when he was assembling some baby supplies and had come up with a short list of three.

Wendy had spurned the name John right away, not wanting her son to become a walking ghost. She was less opposed to Raymond, but she had always said that Abel sounded ‘cute’. Jax had thought it was strong, with a reliable ring to it.

The boy himself wasn’t quite sleeping, more in the dozing phase of sleeping and wakefulness; not dreaming yet.

Jax raised him from the crib as carefully as a grown man could; like a lion tenderly taking a young cub it its huge, powerful jaws. He cradled the tiny, frail creature in his arms and sat in the rocker with him.

The warm solidity of the baby, the peaceful slackness of his face made Jax feel like nothing was wrong; he envied the innocence of Abel, of his undisturbed world.

Nita entered the Nursery with a few ice cubes wrapped in a dish cloth, handing them to Jax and with a small smile left them in peace.

“Thank you….” Jax muttered, keeping Abel in the crook of his arm and using his free hand to hold the ice to his face. It burned, but in a good way.

Eventually the cold compress began to drip water down onto his shirt, so Jax reluctantly put Abel back into his crib and went towards the shower.

In his and Tara’s bedroom, Jax shred his clothes, leaving them in a heap to be picked up later.

He entered the bathroom in only his underwear, and had to come face to face with his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

One eye had now swollen into an ugly mess, the eyeball itself was bloodshot and angry. The other side of his face was decorated with some scratches, and a purple bruises with greenish edges decorated his lower cheek.

The stiches stood out like white centipedes crawling all over him.

He might be going crazy, but to Jax the marks all looked like fingerprints and the indents of knuckles.

He’d been bashed about like a football player’s wife.

Enraged at the sight of himself, Jax with pure impotent rage and punched the mirror; it cracked under his fist and the sound reverberated out like a cry for help.

Nita came hurrying outside the bathroom door.  “Mr Teller? Is everything okay in there?”

Jax watched the beads of blood seep down his hand like raindrops. “The mirror fell off the wall, don’t worry…” He said, staring at the damage he’d done. “I got it.”

\---

When Jax finally got back to Teller-Morrow he went straight to the bar. He didn’t care that the clock on the wall read just past eleven O’clock; he needed hard booze with some urgency.

Beer wouldn’t cut it, so Jax poured himself out what was a large glass of whiskey and nursed it like a treasure.

While he was stewing on the bar stool, someone came up behind him and Jax’s first instinct was to smash the glass upside the unseen person’s head; that is, until he heard the voice. “Hey man, I heard about your spill on the road.”

It was Opie, only Opie.

The big man had been Jax’s friend since he could count to ten, and they had a comfortable way of being around each other without having to say too much.

“Yeah.” Jax muttered, sipping from his glass, hunched over like a villain.

Opie took the seat next to him, and whistled through his teeth. “Christ, what did you do? Insult the road’s mother?”

Jax left out a quiet huff, it was as close as he could come to a laugh. “Nah, got in a pissing contest with Hale though.” He explained, looking into the brown liquid as opposed to at Opie. “Spent the night in jail.”

“Looks like you should have gone to the hospital.” Opie mused, frowning.

Jax sat up straight, and his back roared angrily at him for having the nerve to do such a thing. “It’s cosmetic.” He wheezed, gritting his teeth. “I’m okay, Ope.”

Jax thought now would be a good time to change the subject. “How are  _you_  doing?”

Opie shrugged. “I’m alright, man.” He said. “I saw my kids.”

Jax was pleased, he’d been telling Opie for days he needed to be with his children; the loss of Donna caused a massive crater hole in their family. Kids shouldn’t have to wake up to the news that their mom isn’t going to be there to say good morning or cook them breakfast, no matter how hard they wish for it.

“That’s good.” Jax replied, finishing his drink; he was buzzing already, which helped with the pain. Hopefully soon it would be gone.

Opie cringed. “Gemma is going to freak when she sees you.”

The room was suddenly filled with the noises of more men coming in, as Chibs, Juice and Bobby all strolled towards the bar. When they spotted Jax, they made a beeline for him.

Jax tensed, and he didn’t get up from where he was sat; he wanted to retreat, hide somewhere dark and away from the hands reaching out to him. He didn’t want all this attention.

“There’s the Jacky boy-” Chibs declared, making like he was about to hug Jax but paused when he took note of Jax’s appearance. “Bloody hell, son.”

Bobby and Juice also looked a little alarmed; as men who often danced on the violent side of life, it’s not as if they’d never seen a beat up guy before. However, it was different when it was one of their own.

They gathered around like concerned dogs for an injured pack mate.

Jax hated being gawped at, so he became snappish and curt with his friends. “Okay, freak shows over guys. You all know what happened.”

Chibs began to say something else when the small gathering parted as Clay stormed his way over; followed on his heels by the ever loyal Tig Trager.

“What the hell where you doing, Jax?” The old man growled. “I got to deal with your mother worrying about you-”

As if having to deal with his wife’s concern over her son was a great inconvenience. Jax’s hand curled tightly around his empty glass like a pissed off snake.  

“You look like crap.” Clay went on.

Jax smiled humourlessly. “That’s what people keep telling me today.”

“Have you told Tara yet?” the old man was just full of questions.

That prickled Jax with quilt, he hadn’t called or even texted his wife since it had happened. She would be at work now, he shouldn’t disturb her, and she was probably doing something important. “I’m… building up to it.”

“Do it.” Clay ordered, leaving no room for compromise. “And if I where you I wouldn’t let your mother lay eyes on you.”

Ah, his mother was a whole other kettle of fish that Jax was not looking forward to handling today.  Taking her reprimands over the phone was one thing, but having to box with her in person was another; Jax just didn’t have the fight in him.

His pilot light had gone out.

It was then that an out of breath Unser made his appearance, which was a strange occurrence. He didn’t normally enter the clubhouse unannounced. As a cop, Unser was about as straight as a hedge maze, but he still liked to keep up the appearance that the uniform he wore counted for something.

Everyone looked questioningly at him, waiting for the old guy to say something.

Finally, when Unser had caught his breath he dropped a bomb on them all. “The FEDS have raided Luann’s studio.”

“What?” Clay exclaimed.

“Some kind of asset seizure, I think some of you boys ought to go down there.”

Jax felt the stirrings of duty rise in his battered body, and as gingerly as he could, rose from the stool and hobbled over to Clay. “I’ll go talk to Otto-”

“No you’re not.” Clay shot him down like a duck in hunting season. “You’re going home to heal.”

The younger man blinked in disbelief. “You’re kidding me right?” He spluttered. “I can handle it.”

“For once in your life do as you’re told. Go home, go and spend some time with your son.” Clay was taller than Jax, and used his advantage in height to loom over the younger man like an ominous cloud threatening a thunderstorm.

The other members of SAMCRO looked at each other with wary eyes. Clay and Jax had blown up at each other many times before, two big egos fighting for room usually ended with sparks flying all over the place. But this time, there was a different sort of feeling to it.

“Did you think about him when you were playing drunk boy racer?” Clay’s timbre has dropped to the same frequency as a rattlesnakes hiss; he was boiling with anger.

“You got a problem, Clay?” Jax bit back like a wolf, all teeth and force.

Opie then decided to get between the bickering animals before they tore each other to bloody pieces. “Hey… he’s right, man.” Opie puts his hand on Jax’s chest and guides him towards taking a step back. “You should rest up.”

Furious that he is being denied his own autonomy, Jax pushes Opie away and gives a wilting glare to the arranged group of bikers. “So what?” He asked, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t get a say in this?”

No one spoke. The Prospect was hanging back, watching as he always did and choosing not to get involved, Juice was nervously glancing in-between Jax and Clay in case one went for the other, and finally Chibs and Bobby were occupying themselves by staring at stains on the carpet.

Opie hung by Jax’s shoulder, trying to radiate some kind of calm for his friend.

Jax realised the he’d already lost the fight, and was simply making himself look foolish; he flushed with both embarrassment and hot, white rage. Jax stormed out of the place, calling back over his shoulder. “Assholes!”

He mounted his bike like an angry cowboy and kicked his girl into motion, then sped down the road leaving only a cloud of indignant dust in his wake.

Everyone let out a sigh.

Once the air had cooled after Jax’s dramatic exit, Clay turned to the Scotsman of their group. “Chibs, go see Otto.”

Chibs, who had a thin mouth (a sure sign that he was discontented with what had just happened) nodded in agreement with his prez. “Aye.”

Once the crowd had been dispersed, Tig caught Clay by the arm. “Hey Clay, you got a minute?”

“Sure, Tig.” Clay said, going over to a corner where they could have a private discussion. “What is it?” 

“You gonna ask Jax if he tampered with that Mayan?” Tig enquired in a hushed voice, checking to see if they were being observed. “Maybe go around later when he’s high on painkillers.” The thought of Jax, passed out and drooling high on Oxy made him snicker on the inside. “At least then he won’t lie.”

“Nah, I’ll leave it till tomorrow.” Clay huffed, then took a cigar out of his pocket, put it in his mouth and lit it up. “Let him sulk for a while.”  


	5. Spitting Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love Opie, guys, he's my man.

Opie led the pack of men inside Luann’s studio, and was deeply bothered by the state he found it in. When he’d visited only a few weeks ago it had been a hub of activity; as busy as a bee hive with men and women in various outfits coming and going, not to mention camera crew on duty.

Now it seemed to be an empty, echoey place.

Opie walked over to Luann, who was deep in conversation with some of her girls.

“Hey ladies.” He rumbled, in a friendly fashion. Some women found his size to be intimidating.

Luann was not that thrilled to see them, not getting they were there to help. “Oh great, as If I don’t have enough trouble around here.” She sighed, the weight of the world on her slender shoulders.

“Oh my god… they did clean you out, Luann.” Bobby took a spin, looking up and down the walls with anguish.

The two girls meekly ducked their heads and hurried past, their bodies being mentally undressed by the many pairs of eyes belonging to the SAMCRO brothers.

“Where are they off too so fast?” Half-Sack enquired, following the blonde with his gaze.

Luann was a prickly as a desert pear, glaring at the prospect. “An employer that can pay them, probably.”

Opie got in closer to her, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “We heard from Otto some guy is trying to muscle in on your business.”

Luann’s eyes turned to stone. “Yeah, name of Georgie Caruso.” She spat, full of venom and naked dislike. “Fucking shit bag… he’s threatened to do all sorts of things to my girls if they don’t join his company.”

Nearby, Juice snickered and grinned like a five year old hearing a dirty joke. “His name is Georgie?”

Opie shot him a look, and the smile faltered, Juice backed up and let the two talk in private.

“Have you spoken to him?” Opie asked.

“No point… Georgie wants to run this town, and I don’t fit into his plans.” Luann looked tired, the kind of tired that mounts over many nights of sleeplessness. She looked gravely at Opie, a plea if there ever was one. “I need that money that I gave SAMCRO, Ope.” She said. “It would really help.”

Opie felt for her. If it had been Donna, he would have never agreed to her lending SAMCRO money to get his ass out of jail; he’d never have her try to clean up his messes for him.

It just wasn’t fair.

Donna had tried to warn him, even when they were up to their eyeballs in debt she knew going back to the club would end in tears sooner or later; perhaps Opie thought the tears would be hers, and not his own.

He missed her, missed her like summer in a dark, cold winter.

“I don’t think we can do that.” Opie replied, knowing it was impossible what Luann was asking for. They just didn’t have the capital.

Luann looked disappointed, and agitated. “Where’s Jax? I need to talk to him about it.”

Opie shook his head. “He’s injured, out of action for a few days.”

Luann was surprised at that, Jax rarely got himself badly hurt; normally he was wise enough to avoid that kind of thing. Which is made what happened to him even more bizarre; Opie remembered saying goodnight to him before coming home, he didn’t seem to be wasted enough to fall off his bike.

“Is he alright?” Luann asked, her face worried.

Opie gave her a reassuring nod. “Sure, just his pride that hurts the most.”

“ _And_ his face, guy looked like a smurf in an abusive relationship.”  Juice chirped.

Opie stared at him for a long, deadpan beat.

Juice coughed awkwardly, and babbled. “I’ll er… just be over there.” He quickly scarpered away to join Bobby and Half-Sack. That mouth was going to get him into trouble someday.

“What am I gonna do here, Opie?” The ex-porn star let a wobble of vulnerability into her voice, letting Opie know that this was truly a dire situation. Otto’s old lady was as hard as iron nails, but even she was getting overwhelmed by this tide of bad luck. “I am wide open to ideas.”

Opie reached out a paw too comfort her, but it landed a bit awkwardly on Luann’s elbow. He was not accustomed to dealing with emotional people; especially since he’d shut down after Donna died.

After Donna was murdered.

He can only promise something in terms of violent retribution. “Give us the guy’s address, we’ll fix it for you.”

\----

The phone rings at about twelve thirty, Hale is about to pour some fresh coffee when his desk vibrates with the noise it makes. He abandons what he’s doing and answers. “Hello, Deputy Hale’s office?”

The voice on the line is feminine. “David? It’s Tara.”

“Oh, hey.” Immediately Hale is set on edge, he hoped Tara couldn’t read his mind over the phone. He hated concealing her husband’s attack from her, but respected Jax’s wish to keep the incident quiet. “Is there something wrong?” He asked, forcing himself to sound casual.

“I was wondering if you’d heard from Jax.” Tara sounded anxious, but also oddly calm, as if she knew in her mind nothing really bad could happen to Jax. Hale wished he could also think like that, but he knew better. “I don’t think he came home last night.”

“I thought he might have crashed at the clubhouse but he hasn’t called me or anything.” Tara went on.

Hale restrained a flinch at her choice of words, then remembered he was alone and could flinch all he wanted and no one would see.

The fact that Jax hadn’t called her was worrying, not to mention irritating; he told Hale he would, Hale should have known that wouldn’t happen.

“He hasn’t been in touch?” He asked.

“No.”

He bit the metaphorical bullet and mentally prepared the lie he was about to tell. “Jax was with me last night.”

“What?” Tara said, alarmed.

Hale realised in hindsight how that sounded, and flushed immediately with embarrassment and backtracked as best he could. “W-what I mean is that I had to bring him in.” He stumbled over his words like a teenager, and would kick himself for it later. “He got drunk at a SAMCRO party and tried to drive home on his bike.”

“Oh my god.” The concern Tara felt for Jax made Hale feel a twinge of jealousy; he’d always admired Tara from afar, like a rose in a garden across the street, but could never come close to her. She was always Jax’s girl.  

“Why didn’t he come to St Thomas?” Tara demanded, and she had a point.

“He refused.” Hale explained, which was at least truthful. “So I breathalysed him and took him back to the station. He spend the night in jail.”

“Oh Jesus.” There was a pause as she let the information sink in. “I’m so sorry.”

He was bewildered by her apology, and jumped at the opportunity to reassure her. “It’s fine.” Then, to put her at ease, he let out a short laugh. “I’m used to dealing with SAMCRO’s by now.”

Tara didn’t seem to find it funny, she was only interested in Jax’s wellbeing. “So…he’s okay?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Hale replied, thinking about the state the biker had been in when he rode away. “I stitched him up and sent him home this morning.”

“Do you know why he didn’t call me?” She asked. “…it’s not like him to get that drunk.”

Thinking on his feet, Hale said “He probably didn’t want you to worry.”

Jax did indeed want to spare Tara worry, which came from a place of caring but also of enforced martyrdom which Hale found to be somewhat selfish.

“Well, I gave him the whole cop lecture about responsible drinking, I don’t think he appreciated it, though.”

“Well, that’s Jax for you.”

Hale wished he could see her in person, he had an urge to reach out and touch her.

Jesus.

Tara was his friend, and he’d helped her husband home after he’d been raped and left for dead by some monsters that could only be human, so great was their cruelty; no other animal in nature was capable of that level of targeted spite.

“I’ll get on him, make sure he calls you later.” Hale promised.

“Thank you, David.” Tara said. “You’re a great friend.”

A lump caught in his throat, but Hale swallowed it. “It’s no trouble, Tara. You need anything, you just call me.”

He could feel her smile. “I will. Bye.”

\-----

Jax had drank half the bottle of his special occasion Jack Danial’s in the space of only an hour after getting home; perhaps the drugs the doctor gave him affected his tolerance, because he was out like a light for a good while after.

Until someone nudged him.

Jax groaned, blinking and a distorted image of an angry cop swam into his vision. 

“Well, that’s just great.” The cop grumbled, low and growl like a bear in a uniform.

The biker squinted, trying to force his eyes to make sense of what he was seeing. “What the fuck?”

The cop bent down, and a hand slapped Jax lightly across the cheek once, twice, three times; trying to rouse him from his stupor. “Hey. Wake up, come on.”

The biker slurred out a response, something rude most likely, he didn’t take well to being woken up when he wasn’t prepared to face the world yet.

He could now discern that the cop was Hale, who was rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “You gotta be kidding me…”

Jax teller was swimming on the buzz that alcohol brings, chasing away the pain and terrible, horrible feeling of violation that had proceeded the events of last night. Perhaps he could even erase the memory of it happening at all, and be rid of the knowledge that such things could happen to a man like him.  

“Have much have you had?” Hale asked, sternly.

“Screw you, Hale.” Jax spat. “How did you even get in here?”

Hale regarded him with an unimpressed expression. “You left your front door unlocked.”

That made Jax falter. He was never normally so careless, anyone could have walked in on him lying here; helpless and drunk. The biker felt sick.

From the nursery, Abel started to squall the high pitched wail of a young infant. Jax slowly turned his head in the direction of the noise; he made an effort to try and get up.

But he was prevented by Hale. “I’ll go.” He said. “Get up, and try and make yourself sober.”

With briskness, Hale walked in the direction of Abel’s room, and Jax could only watch in mute shock as his control of the situation fell through his hands like water.

Abel’s crying shushed, and in its place was the soft gurgling of a contented baby. He could hear Hale talking softly to his boy, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary.

Jax forced himself to rise, and limped over to the kitchen like a dog in shame; seeking out a glass from the cupboard and filling it with cold water.

It was just as well, he wasn’t fit to be any kind of father to Abel at this moment; he was too absorbed in his own trauma.

Soon, Hale returned and joined Jax.

“Is he okay?” The biker asked, taking sips of his water.

“Yeah, I think he was feeling lonely.”  Hale replied, then frowned. “I thought you guys were getting a nanny?”

Jax eyed him with suspicion. “How d’you know that?”

Hale leaned back on the refrigerator. “Tara and I talk sometimes.”

When Jax’s look only turned colder, Hale clarified himself. “We’re friends.”

Somehow Jax knew that was the only truth there could be, and that his display of possessiveness was out of sheer habit as opposed to a reaction to a real threat. That’s just how he was taught to respond when another man spoke to his girlfriend.

Jax guzzled more of his water, suddenly very thirsty. “I told Nita to take the day off. I needed some time alone.”

Hale raised a questioning eyebrow, disapproval coming off him in waves. “To drink?”

Jax snarled at him, too drunk to react like a normal human being. “Fuck off.”

Hale looked ready to counter, but instead restrained himself with a long sigh. “Enough of this. You and I need to talk.”

A sharp, violent stab of discomfort shot down Jax’s back, and he gritted his teeth. “Painkillers first.” Without waiting for Hale to offer to fetch them for him, Jax went to the bathroom and got them himself; he’d had enough of Hale’s prince charming act for one day.

Hale watched him swallow them, his eyes saying a lot but his mouth staying firmly closed.

“What do you want to say, Hale?” Jax asked.

“You can’t get rid of it by doing this.” Hale replied, as earnest as a boy scout; his expression shifting to one of open uneasiness. “No amount of alcohol and pills is going to erase what happened.”

Hearing that said aloud is perplexing, Jax rides with men who use substances as an easy escape from the mortal realm and its burdens; he’s gone on countless benders and slept with countless women all in the name of forgetting.

What Hale is telling him is going against the harsh dos and don’ts, the lines drawn over many years of learning from men like Clay and women like Gemma. Like most people, Jax recoils from this new idea. “Can’t I try?”

He must sound pretty pitiful, as Hale’s voice softens. “I spoke to Tara. She was worried, why didn’t you call her?”

Jax finished his water and washed it up in the sink, needing something to distract his hands for a moment. “I didn’t want to interrupt her at work.”

“Bullshit.” Hale snapped. “You’re avoiding her.”

Fuelled by an unexpected rush of anger, Jax tossed the glass into the bottom of the sink so hard that it cracked loudly against it; startling Hale into standing at attention, getting prepared in case Jax went off on a rampage.

“What am I supposed to do, Hale?!” The biker demanded, flailing with all that he was feeling and unable to get a grip. Then, the tears came, and a sadness so heavy that Jax nearly crumpled to the floor. “I can’t…”

He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter top, his arm shaking with the strain of keeping his body up. “This just….doesn’t happen to guys like me.”

Hale, sensing he wasn’t in danger, got closer. He didn’t crowd Jax, but offered a quiet companionship with his presence; he was there if he was needed.

The biker kept talking, saying what his mind has been whispering over the last few hours. “I’m not… some weak little prison bitch.”

They joked about it all the time, what happened in prison; if you were too pretty, or the new guy, or just unlucky enough to have a pervert for a cellmate. Jax often took a little flack for being handsome and blonde, a combination which might have gotten himself into some bother inside if he hadn’t kept his wits about him.

The irony was painful; to think he’d always felt safer on the outside.

“Jax, listen.” Hale touched his arm gently. “This doesn’t make you weak, understand? This can happen to anyone.”

The biker rounded on him, yanking his arm back out of Hale’s reach. “Even you? Mr Robocop?” He asked, with the harsh bark of an angry hound. “Anyone ever try to bend _you_ over a squad car?”

Hale’s lips thinned, but he didn’t rise to the jibe. “It’s not about how strong you are.” He insisted. “They took you by surprise.”

Hale was right, they had. They had taken advantage of Jax’s single second of inattention. “All because I stopped to help someone…” he mumbled, unpleasant cogs turning in his head. “I can’t let my guard down again.” Jax punctuated his ultimatum by looking Hale straight in the face, a powerful pulsating hum of revenge lust and resolution coursing through his body. “Not ever.”

Hale didn’t leave his side, though his face suggested that he didn’t like the conclusion Jax had come too. “The world is a dangerous place.” He said, carefully. “But normally, it isn’t out to get you directly. Mostly, you’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yeah.” Jax agreed, frostily. “I was.”


	6. Cutting flesh

Jax was sitting in the kitchen, it was a little past midnight.

He was alone, and smoking his third cigarette. Although he’d made a promise to Tara not to smoke in the house, somehow he always found himself breaking it; especially these days when all that was separating him from snapping at her was the chance to smoke undisturbed.

White wreaths were spiralling into the air from the tiny fire at the end of his Marlboro. Tara was dozing in their bed, alone, Jax didn’t want to disturb her with his tossing and turning.

Or with his nightmares that dogged him as soon as his eyes were closed.

A low hum of a familiar jingle ran through the air, which let Jax know his phone was ringing. He fished it out of the bowl sitting on the coffee table and answered tiredly. “Hey.”

“Jacky boy, we need you and Tara to get down here. The Niners exchange went to shit.” It’s Chibs on the line, with a breathy edge to his voice that suggests urgency.

Jax is awake at once, as if jumping up out of a coma. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Mayans.” Chibs growls.

“Jesus!” Immediately Jax is wondering how it is that the Mexicans knew about the meet; it can’t be one of the club, his paranoid mind congers up images of spies and of being watched.

Chibs sounds about as exhausted as Jax feels. “Yeah, they sprang from nowhere. Bobby has been shot.”

Jax’s heart pauses for a moment. “Is he okay?”

“Alive at least, but he’s bleeding all over everything.” Jax felt the heavy dread that had been gathering in his gut lighten when Chibs said that. At least Bobby was still breathing and mostly whole. “It’s a bit beyond my skillset, we need a real doctor.”

“Fine, I’ll wake Tara. We’ll be there in ten.” He sprang into action, hanging up the phone and running into his bedroom. He reached over and shook Tara by one lean shoulder. “Babe, wake up.”

Tara grumbled, and flipped over onto her back, blinking up at Jackson; dazed and sleepy. “What? Jax?” She yawned, sitting up. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Jax stiffened, then shook his head. “No, I’ve been awake for hours.” He puts on a light, and rummages around the floor for a shirt and finds a blue plaid which he threw on with hurry and little grace. “We gotta go, Bobby’s been shot by the Mayans.”

“What?” Tara’s doctor instincts kicked in, and she too got up and began to get dressed as quickly as she could. “How serious is it?” She asked, trying to figure out what she would need.

“His shoulder, they need you to work your magic.” Jax said, kinda sorry that he couldn’t tell her anymore. Surely if they thought Bobby was in mortal peril they would have taken him to the hospital.

Tara laughs, weary.

She hasn’t been able to sleep much either lately with a cruel combination of Abel and Jax. “I guess it’s a good thing I got a day off tomorrow, huh?”

Jax regarded her with a thankful look, few other women whould do as much for the club as Tara does. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t an emergency.”

She smiles, tired but kind. “I know. We’ll have to bring Abel along.”

Jax sighed, the boy was fast asleep, and waking him now would set him into a grumpy mood which would last all day tomorrow. Having a baby was like tiptoeing around a slumbering dragon.

Tara gathered up the baby’s diaper bag and went into the kitchen to make him a bottle for later, Jax went to retrieve Abel from his crib; lifting him to one shoulder and patting him on the back. Thankfully, he didn’t fuss.

With the lightest of steps, Jax walked with his son out into the living room and waited for Tara.

When she returned, she looked upon them with bone set affection that made the biker’s skin come up in goose bumps.

 _She doesn’t know._ He thought. _She doesn’t know I’m less of a man than I used to be._

They arrived at the club almost exactly when Jax said they would, Tara immediately handing over Abel to Gemma who was more than happy to babysit for a little while.

Chibs met them inside, looking very anxious. “Good to see you, doc.”

Tara put on her ‘doctor voice’ when she addressed him. “Hey, where is he?”

“Through here.”

Tara was led away and Jax was left drifting, unsure like a sailboat in a sea about to get choppy. Before it happened, he prowled the club with the confidence of a lion, now, he skulked towards an empty table and sat with only his thoughts for company.

That is, until he was joined by his best friend. “Jax.” The bigger man sat beside him.

“Opie.” Jax greeted, yawning. “It fucking sucks about the exchange, man.”

Opie looked worn down, like a cliff face chipped away by years of bad weather. “Just a heads up, Clay is pissed about this, dude.” He said in a low voice. “I’d stay away from him if I were you.”

Jax appreciated the warning, though he was fairly sure he could handle Clay. He wasn’t scared of the old man. “Thanks.”

They sat in silence that wasn’t silent at all, such was the hum of background noise emanating throughout the clubhouse: Jax could pick out Tara’s softer tones among many deeper male ones and then the shriller, sharper notes of his mother. 

“You feeling any better?” Opie enquired carefully, watching were he trod.

“I’m doing great.” Jax replied, flat.

Opie was unable to settle, he was probably still buzzing from the nights events; it was catching, as Jax soon found himself shifting about nervously. “….why didn’t you pick up any of my calls?” The bigger man rumbled.

It was because Jax had ignored them, every single one. He had turned his phone off to get a bit of true peace and quiet while he was supposed to be ‘recuperating’. It hadn’t felt good.

“Didn’t check my messages.” He made himself sound as if he didn’t care too much about it. “I was told to take some time off, remember?”

“I just wanted to check in on you, no one’s seen you for nearly a week.” Opie’s eyes were filling with clouds of concern.  “Normally someone has to chain you to the bed to keep you away from the club.”

The biker found himself tuning out his friend as if he were a TV show that he wasn’t really interested in, hearing what Opie was saying but not taking any kind of notice. It had been happening lot, Jax would start something, and then, like there had been a blip in time he’d find himself somewhere else entirely. “I guess I needed the rest.”

From across the room, Juice made an appearance and once he caught sight of Jax he made a beeline for his VP. Jax looked at his spritely energy and friendly smile and envied his youthful vigour and ignorance.

God, he was becoming bitter.

“Hey, Jax!” Juice yanked back a chair and took a seat, as lively as a fluttering bat. “Did you see Bobby? His shoulder is gushing, looks really gross.” The young man wrinkled his nose, exhibiting his distaste.

Juice was funny about bodily fluids, he was a neat freak besides and frequently mocked for his vigorous and routine handwashing. It went beyond the realms of normal hygiene procedures, and into a compulsion which Jax wasn’t certain if Juice was aware he had.

A nice guy, if somewhat unbalanced.

Hell, they were all unbalanced; not even Jax could claim sanity now.

“Better stay away then, germaphobe.” He teased, picking on low ranking members of the pack was an easy habit to fall back into.

“Have you any idea how many disgusting things we touch every day?” Juice looked horrified when he answered his own question in his head. “I watched a documentary about bacteria once and I almost threw up.”

It was Opie’s turn to look disgusted. “Nice.”

In his peripheral Jax could make out the slender shape of his mother approaching, a now awake Abel in her arms. He flirted with the idea of bailing, of finding some excuse to avoid her, but he felt it would be too unkind to her.

He tried his best to smile.  “Hey, Ma.”

But Gemma was no fool.  “You don’t look good.” She always cut right to the point. “You look like a ghost, are you sleeping?” She rocked Abel in her grasp to keep him calm; to her credit, he appeared content, if a somewhat bemused as to what was going on around him.

Already Jax was prickled at her prying. “Yes, mom, I’m sleeping.”

Gemma gave him a cold side eyed glance. “I thought with Tara being a doctor, she’d take good care of you.”

Jax could take most things from his mother and brush them off; he’d had years of dealing with her up and down moods and her whiplash tongue. She’d always seemed to find some delight at finding fault with his girlfriends.

At the slight at Tara, Jax boiled with anger and got up out of his chair; Gemma wasn’t expecting him to rise to her bait so literally, and took a step back, cradling Abel’s head with her hand; the baby babbled quietly to himself.

“I don’t need to be taken care of, I’m _fine_.” He said his words through his teeth, glaring down at his mother, hackles raised and telling her firmly to back off.

Gemma was cowed not by man nor beast, she only tightened her lips. “Clay wants to see you.”

That’s all he needed, a mouth full of abuse from the king. “Great.”

With smoke pouring from his ears, Jax got up and stomped his way up to the chapel in a temper that was so visible that no one dared approach him.

He threw open the door to see Clay where he always was, at the head of the table, brooding, immediately putting Jax at a disadvantage. At least the distance might provide some protection if things descended into a verbal or even physical brawl; though if Jax was honest he couldn’t even fight off Unser in his current condition.

“What’s this about?” He asked, jerking his chin up, mentally building walls around his head.

“That Mayan you whacked was holding up nine fingers.” Clay leaned back in his chair, an accusing eye step on his step-son. “You want to tell me why you did that?”

It had been to protect the club and Opie from blow-back. Jax had known it was an errand of idiocy, but one that Opie needed in order to begin to heal. Nothing would be set right until there was retribution.

So Jax told the truth. “I thought it was best for the club.”

Clay was not happy with his answer. “Well now we got a whole shit storm to deal with because of that.”

“I get that, and I am sorry for Bobby.” Truly, he was. The guilt was sinking in now and eating away at Jax’s gut, but he’d acted on an instinct as ingrained and natural to him as breathing. “I don’t know how the Mayans found out of the trade.”

Clay huffed out an angry breath. “It doesn’t matter how. Now we gotta watch out for the upcoming race war.”

The old guy was fond of his hyperbole.

“It that all?” Jax asked, done with being grilled for one day.

“No.” Clay replied, frowning which deepened the wrinkles on his face into canyons. “No one’s seen or heard from you in days, it’s not good for morale.”

It wasn’t so much an observation as it was an accusation, and Jax was thankful that he had prepared himself previously for this. “You all know where I live if you want to see me.” He snapped, its not as if he lived far away; if they were all so concerned, why had none of them come to see him?

Only Hale had struck around.

“That’s not the point, you’re the vice president of this club! Your presence means something.” Clay barked.

Jax was hot with his mounting anger and being spoken to like an errand child. “You told me to take a few days.”

“I did. But I didn’t mean vanish into thin air.” Clay said, scowling. “You’re getting your mother worried.”

Little did he know to what lengths Jax would go to keep his mother safe; the threat whispered in his ear still haunted his wakeful hours, like a persistent scavenger.

Jax’s hands had clenched into fists, and it took an impressive measure of self-control not to take a swing at Clay. “Well, I’m sorry for that too.”

Figuring there was no more to be said, Jax turned quickly on his heel and left the room in a slow burning blaze of temper; coupled with the feeling of shame over his own weakness, and that he could not get a grip on what was happening around him.

“Hey! We aint’ done talking-” Clay tried to intercept Jax, but was too slow to keep up with him. He was left roaring down the hall after his step son. “Jackson!”

Meanwhile, Tara had finished with the last of the stitches on Bobby’s shoulder. Half-Sack was playing her assistant, wiping away the blood and handing over her tools when needed.

Gemma was hovering nearby with Abel. “How is he looking, Tara?”

“He’ll be fine.” Tara said, studying her work and finding it to be satisfactory. “Might scar, though.”

Bobby huffed quietly in response, he’d had a few glasses of bourbon to quote un quote ‘dull the pain’ despite the fact that Tara could have easily given him a local.

Half-Sack grinned like a mischievous monkey spirit. “It’ll be hard core.” He told his fellow brother, there were a few specks of Bobby’s blood on his shirt but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Tara supposed a man who’d had his testicle blown off in Afghanistan wouldn’t exactly be squeamish at a few speckles of blood; as long as it was someone else’s, and not his own.

Bobby chuckled, a lopsided smile creeping onto his face. “You bet.” He was shirtless, sitting on a pool table which Tara had been assured was a clean workspace; although hospital clean and SAMCRO clean were in two different universes.

When there was a lull in activity, Gemma cut in. “Can I talk to you?” She asked Tara.

“Uh, sure. I’m just about done.” Tara needed to wash her hands and sterilise her instruments, she turned to the young prospect. “Make sure he doesn’t move around too much.”

Half-Sack nodded, happy to be helping with something other than general donkey work.

Bobby rubbed carefully at his injured shoulder, poking at the smart little stitches that was keeping his sticky fluids inside his body. “I want a pretty nurse next time.”

The prospect snorted. “Ask Juice, maybe he’ll hold your hand for you.”

Leaving the men behind, Tara and Gemma proceeded to the clubhouse kitchen; where the doctor began to scrub her hands in the sink, using a generous amount of soap. The water turned pink as it mingled with Bobby’s plasma, swirling down into the plughole with a gurgle.

Gemma was waiting to say something, and Tara couldn’t relax until she did. “So, how is Jax?”

She momentarily paused on her scrubbing, looking down at the suds coating her hand instead of directly at the other woman. “He’s okay. Still in pain, but the pills are helping with that.”

She’d hoped that Gemma would buy it.

She was naïve.

 “...you need to learn how to lie better, Honey.” Gemma had a steely expression, which clashed with her holding a sweet faced baby. “Otherwise you won’t last long here.”

Tara was caught off guard but instead of arguing with Gemma, her shoulders slumped and she put her hand to her forehead in defeat; she ached with the weight of the last few days, now she had permission to air her sorrows. “…he’s not sleeping, Gemma.” Tara admitted. “He just sits up all night, and when he does collapse he has nightmares.”

“What about? The accident?”

At night Jax twitched, he writhed, and he kicked and clawed at an invisible something that Tara could not see; as if he were fighting for his life. It didn’t feel like he was dreaming about falling off his bike. “He won’t tell me.”

Tara felt Gemma’s hand on her back, moving in a slow circle. They had knocked heads many times before, but worry over Jax seemed to close the gap between them. Then, she spoke with authority which gave Tara something to cling on to. “Give him a bit more time. He’ll be alright, my boy is strong.”


	7. Biting tongues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bi-weekly updates from now on due to work XD sorry guys.

Hale could swear by his intuition.

He knew that it was in the nature of the human condition to be overly confident in one’s own instincts, only to have the world laugh at you about it later; but still that day came, Hale would trust his gut.

It had nothing to do with him being a cop, he’d just always had this ability to detect someone’s intentions; maybe even before the person in question had thought about it.

He’s saved his sister from many failed relationships on the judgement of her prospective boyfriends but crushingly, he’d learned that he couldn’t protect her when she went away to college.

That was a whole other, murky world.

And today his gut was telling him there was a cold blooded reptile in his office; in the form of Ethan Zobelle. Sure he could turn on the charm and trick anybody’s mother into thinking he was a gentleman; but he was only more of the stinking garbage Hale wanted out of his town.

Only difference is that he wore a nice suit.

“It doesn’t look good, does it?” Zobelle murmured, his eyes twinkling.

He’d handed Hale a photo, which David was now inspecting. It was a surveillance shot taken from a car window, focusing in on three figures in an old gas station. Hale recognised all but two of the men in the picture.

“What am I looking at, exactly?” He asked.

“That would be your boss, and Clay Morrow chatting with Leroy Wayne.” Zobelle was also superior in his manner, which naturally came with his political views. “Who runs the one-niners, and controls the largest heron trade in three counties.”

It seemed Unser was getting his grimy hands even more dirty than they already were. “This isn’t news to me.” Hale dropped the photo on his desk disinterestedly. He wouldn’t give Zobelle any indication that he was displeased with this news.

“You don’t sound very concerned, Deputy Chief.”

“Unser is on his way out.” Hale assured, and was comforting himself also with that statement. Yes Unser was easy to get along with but he was a piss poor cop who needed to retire.

“So you think.” Zobelle’s gaze intensified, he was building up to something. “SAMCRO is going to keep that crooked old boy on his podium for as long as they can.”

Quite frankly Hale was tired of dealing with SAMCRO’s shit.

He’d helped Jax out of human decency and wouldn’t expect to be paid back in return because that’s not what a man does. But that was separate, outside of the sphere of the MC’s business in Charming.

If he could separate Jax Teller from his persona as biker bad boy they might find some common ground. Certainly the guy hadn’t deserved any of what he’d suffered.

“He’s got cancer.” Hale sat back in his chair. “He’s not got that long on this earth. I know the Sons can be arrogant, but I don’t think they can pull a medical miracle out of their asses.”

Zobelle chuckled, indulging Hale with his laughter at his little joke. “Even after he’s gone, you’re still going to have the MC cruising around like they own the place.” His voice dropped to a quieter octave, as people naturally do when the conversation turns to shadier subjects.

“I can help with that.”

Hale remains unmoved. “I don’t think I want your kind of help.”

Zobelle continues to wheedle regardless. “The reason the MC are treated like heroes is because they keep Charming drug-free. Or so they say.” The man smirked, pleased at himself for this little speech. “What if… that was no longer the case?”

Hale narrows his eyes. “And why would that be?”

Zobelle leans in a bit closer, as if he’s leading Hale towards a pot of gold or the fountain of youth. “What if I created a short term problem in order to eliminate a bigger one?”

“You want to bring drugs into my town?” Hale asked, his disgust evident from spacecraft orbiting the earth. “Under my watch?”

“I want to get the sons of Charming.” “Isn’t that what you want?”

Hale’s anger burned hot and red, and he barely restrained himself as he curtly replied “Get out of my office.”

Zobelle put on a show of disappointment, standing in his finely tailored suit and walking to the door; pausing as he opened it to have one last shot at Hale’s integrity. “Think about it, David.”

The deputy watched in silence as the reptile slivered from his office, and knew better than to think that would be the last he’d see of Ethan Zobelle.

\---

Jax was back at the club but he walked like a man on springs, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation; the mixture of pain meds and too much coffee made him a paranoid, short tempered fucker.

The unfortunate victim of his wrath today was Half-Sack, who bumped into Jax with an open can of Pepsi in his hand; spilling some on the front of his VP’s shirt. “Oh Jesus-”

Jax saw the stain spreading through the fabric, and he began to boil with anger.

“I’m so sorry Jax-” The prospect dabbed ineffectively at Jax’s shirt with a napkin.

Jax smacked away his hand and snarled in Half-Sack baffled, freckled face. “Why don’t you watch where you’re fucking _walking,_ you useless sack of shit!”

He watched as the younger man turned white, before scurrying away into some dark corner of the garage. Good.

A few heads had turned at the exchange, but no one got up; as if they could sense that in the mood Jax was in, it could be a deadly move.

The only one brave enough to take the risk was Tara, who had been watching from Gemma’s office; staring at her boyfriend through the glass, confused and perhaps a little ashamed of his behaviour. She slid over to him quietly, so not to incite his temper; taking hold of his arm.

He look down at her. “What?”

Tara looked in the direction that Half-Sack had fled. “What was that about?”

Jax attempted to shrug her off. “Not now, Tara.”

“When would be a good time then, Jackson?!” Her outburst attracted more attention, and now a few of the brothers were blatantly staring. Growling under his breath, Jax ushered her into the Clubhouse bedroom so they could have their spat in private.

Pretty ironic, considering the state of their relationship; they were in the bedroom to war and not to fuck.

“Lately… it just feels like you’re freezing me out.” Tara paced, trying to calm herself down and articulate her thoughts.

“I’m not, babe.” Jax said.

“Okay, then…” Tara took in a breath. “Why haven’t we had sex in two weeks?”

She dropped it at his feet like a dead, decaying rat; oozing out and shaming him, also impossible to ignore any longer.

His defences flared up immediately. “Are you counting the days?”

She reached for him. “Jax…”

He stepped away from her. “I’m still healing, you’re a doctor, you should know about that stuff.”

It would have been a good excuse with anyone but Tara, but she knew him better. “It’s not just that though, is it?” She looked like she desperately wanted to help, but simply didn’t know how. “What aren’t you telling me? Is it something to do with the club?”

Her questions poke at her his fried nerves. “No.” He rounds on her, snorting like a beast in a bad mood. “And FYI, if you’re not happy with me, why don’t you go and find some other guy that can give you what you want?”

The declaration shocks her into quiet, and Jax can see the canyon between them growing wider still. It used to be so simple with Tara, now she only reminds him of how he used to be before the attack; and how he’ll never be the same again.

He can’t hate her exactly, he could never hate Tara; but she doesn’t know, so she can’t understand.

He storms out, ignoring her calling after him. “Jax!”

Her voice fades to an echo as Jax steps out into the light of the midday sun, a few of his brother’s eye him warily but none make an approach; they know that whatever is going on is none of their business.

Opie, Juice and Tig rumble into the yard on their bikes and hop off like triumphant cowboys. They’d been sent to deal with a drug peddling vermin out by the lumber yard; but the looks of things, they’d been successful.

Sometimes, Jax missed the real dirty work; the kind he could bruise his knuckles on and roar at the world like a lion enraged.

Clay appears to greet them. “About time you boys got back.” He said. “What have we got?”

“An address for the drug house, I think we need to call a church.” Tig replied, running the back of his hand across his forehead to get rid of the sweat gathering up there. “We got some decisions to be made.”

The heat is picking up, and the weather is nice. So nice, in fact, that the thought of spending one more second trapped in a stuffy garage with motor fumes and oil stains seems the most dreadful waste; almost like a slow suffocation when fresh air is within reach.

Clay summons everyone up with a brisk whistle. “Alright, everybody in.”

The guys all start to shuffle inside, all except Jax, who mounts his bike and revs the engine; listening to it coming alive.

Opie notices, and gave him a confused look, as if Jax had merely not heard what Clay had said. “Jax? We got church.”

“I ain’t going.” Jax put on his helmet.

Opie seemed stunned, the idea that Jax would bail on a meeting completely alien to him. “What? But you’re VP!”

Jax glared coldly at his friend, hoping Opie wasn’t going to try and stop him from going. “I don’t give a damn!” His shout was lost over the noise of his bike whirring on the asphalt and down the street at full speed. 

Opie watched his friend go, truly at a loss as to how he should proceed. Tig joined him, sighing as Jax’s flying blonde hair, along with the rest of him, shot behind a corner and out of view. “Tell me that wasn’t Prince Charming riding off?” He asked with a groan.

The other biker very much shared his exasperation; what was happening to Jax? He’d always seemed so driven, so collected, now he was coming apart over nothing. “Off into the sunset.”

“Well, the king is going to be royally pissed.”

\---

Hale was driving back from getting himself a shave when he saw Jax Teller sitting on his bike in the police parking lot. The biker had his head bowed, hair falling down across his features; obscuring his expression.

Concerned, he parked up quickly and went over. “Jax?”

Jax looked up, and Hale noticed right away how tired and drawn he looked; almost like one of those wax work figures who fall short of looking like a real person. “Hey, Hale.”

Guessing there was no immediate danger, Hale let his guard drop a little. “How you doing?” He asked, hoping to get to the bottom of this impromptu visit.

Judging from his looks, Jax was struggling to come to grips with everything; maybe he was simply returning to a place of safety, where someone else knew what had happened that night.

“Not great.” Jax admitted, his tone conveying many sleepless nights. Hale felt for the man; lying awake in the early hours with nothing but the ticking gears in one’s own head was one of the worst things he could think of. “Tara’s asking questions. I can’t give her any answers.”

Hale sighed, shaking his head. “You should have told her the truth from the start.”

Jax lights a cigarette, and Hale lean back so he doesn’t breathe in any of the smoke. He personally detests smoking, pot or tobacco; more than the health risks, it’s just a messy, disgusting habit.

Hale recognises a displacement activity when he sees one.

Jax takes a long drag, letting some puffs fall from his mouth like a lethargic dragon. “I can’t do that, man.”

The statement is rock solid, no cracks exist where Hale might slip in an argument; he could tell Jax he’s mistaken till he had no words left, and still he wouldn’t listen. So Hale manoeuvres the conversation elsewhere. “How is the club?”

The blonde biker raised an eyebrow at the cop. “You really asking about SAMCRO? I thought we were the enemy.” Smoke surrounded him like a sceptical cloud.

“It doesn’t have to be that way, you know that.” Hale assured, giving Jax a look.

The biker finished his cig and stomped it out on the ground under his foot. “Yeah, tell that to Clay.”

“I would tell Clay a lot of things if he would listen.” And he would, but Clay is old and too set in his ways to accept any kind of change or advice.

Jax too seemed to be of a similar opinion. “Good luck with that, man.”

The two men stood around with nothing more to say for a little while, until Hale found a suggestion creeping up the back of his throat like a cautious gopher. “….Do you think, maybe, you could use someone who’ll listen?”

Jax looked over, befuddled. “What do you mean?”

Hale cleared his throat. “I mean a therapist, maybe.”

What was an uncomfortable silence stretching as far and wide as the open plains of the old open passed between Hale and Jax. In this environment run by men with dirt under their nails and proudly battle scarred by bullets, the idea of therapy was a nonsensical as a pig with wings.

“A head shrinker?” Jax asked in disbelief. “No way. The guys would never let me live it down.”

“How about you start thinking about yourself for a change?” Hale countered, hands on his hips. “And not about what the club might think.”

Jax hung back his head in a cocky fashion, thinking of some snappy reply, but the world would never hear it; as Opie Winston angrily stalked from a nearby car like a bear early out of hibernation, and made his way over to the strange pair.


End file.
